The one that called me Dulator
by Dulator
Summary: Picking up at the end of Day 2 Bast finishes his "business" while Kvothe recalls the first person he loved. M for later Chapters


**Okay so this is my first Fan Fiction, Unfortunately i must use NotePad to create my stories at the moment as i do not have any other text things...**

**The second part, as those who have read the novels before know , belongs PURELY to Patrick Rothfuss. The rest is my work however i do not own the characters etc etc not sure what everyone puts here.**

**This takes off directly from the second last chapter of the WISE MANS FEAR as you can tell from the first sentence.**

**Enjoy :) R&R if you have any suggestions or problems or ideas :)**

His expression was nothing like a smile.

Bast laughed, as though joking and spat onto the ground. The metalic blood puddled in a dip of the closed his eyes briefly and muttered a binding.

"whats he doing?" the blonde soldier questioned.

"I'm not sure but i think that fire is picking up its getting mighty warm around here" The bearded man said standing up and starting to move away from the fire.

"Are you joking? its just about snowing out here and you think its too warm? daft bastard" the blonde man said, nudging closer to the fire that was, dispite the huge amount of unburnt fuel, dying slowly.

"strange weather aye mate? good thing we're off tomorrow right lad?" He said, his blonde hair only lightly glowing in the dying light.

Bast moved the burning log towards the blood on the ground untill it was a few inches from the blood.

There was a low thud as the bearded man hit the ground followed by a deep scream as he curled into a ball on his side.

"whats happening back there?" the blonde man said, standing up from his seat from the cut stump of an old tree.

"Woolen, woman moon at night willow, window candlelight."

Bast then slowly moved the log closer to the blood, screams increasing in volume and intensity. After a long minute Bast dropped the log lower untill the blood doused the tip of the flaming log. The scream instantly died down once the dark red liquid hit the ember. The blonde man looked over at his comrade. Blood started seeping out through the pores of his skin as the body was twitching.

The blonde man still frozen on his seat by the fire. "M-Magic" he stuttered, curving the end into a pupils in his eyes wide with fear.

The body has now totally still."Yes, magic. And now for my next trick.." bast train of thought deviated, a sneaky grin growing across his dark face. He released the bindings holding the fire and the stick then the blood on the ground and the bearded mans. The fire Roared upwards sitting out thousands of little sparks into the surrounding air.

The man jumped backwards toppling over the stump. Suddenly realizing what had gone on he ran. Through the surrounding scrub and into the distance.  
Bast laughed, kneeling by the dead body he muttered a binding once again. Taking the mans still hot hand Bast pulled at the index fingers nail.

After a few tuggs the nail pulled right out. A distant scream brought back Basts twisted smile. The screaming continued for a few moments. After it stopped Bast started to sing in melancholy.

Rode they horses white as snow.  
Silver blade and white horn bow.  
Wore they fresh and supple boughs,  
Red and green upon their brows.  
Darkness followed through the hail Chasing them through chasm and vale Doing knowing what feels wrong or right Scraeling always come out in the night.

Once he finished the final verse one sharp scream hurried out in the distance. Although it was broken out by what must have been death it sounded as though it cried 'Help'.

Bast hurried back towards the inn running through the town. The lamp in the distance showed the entrance to the inn. Stepping through the door a soft scent of leather and lemon wafted through the air. Bast headed upstairs to his room, taking time to admire the Roah plaque on the wall. After making his way to his room Bast finally slept the deep sleep he has needed for years.

*****************************DAY 3**********************************

Dawn was coming. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.

The most obvious part was a vast, echoing quiet made by things that were lacking. If there had been a storm, raindrops would have tapped and pattered against the selas vines behind the inn. Thunder would have muttered and rumbled and chased the silence down the road like fallen autumn leaves. If there had been travelers stirring in their rooms they would have stretched and grumbled the silence away like fraying, half-forgotten dreams. If there had been music . . . but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.

Inside the Waystone a dark-haired man eased the back door closed behind himself. Moving through the perfect dark, he crept through the kitchen, across the taproom, and down the basement stairs. With the ease of long experience, he avoided loose boards that might groan or sigh beneath his weight. Each slow step made only the barest tep against the floor. In doing this he added his small, furtive silence to the larger echoing one. They made an amalgam of sorts, a counterpoint.

The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened long enough you might begin to feel it in the chill of the window glass and the smooth plaster walls of the innkeeper s room. It was in the dark chest that lay at the foot of a hard and narrow bed. And it was in the hands of the man who lay there, motionless, watching for the first pale hint of dawn s coming light.

The man had true red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he lay with the resigned air of one who has long ago abandoned any hope of sleep.

The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, holding the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn s ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.

*******************************************************************  
The sun was already up past Kvothes window as he woke voices could be heard from downstairs. Bast undoubtedly was already up and serving the morning customers.

"No no no. This is Bee Beer" Bast boasted to a customer loudly before the floorboards and walls made it almost impossible to hear the rest of the conversation.

Kvothe Wondered. He wondered too far. Casting his mind back to Imre. To the first time she ever called him by the pet-name she decided._ Dulator..._


End file.
